


an end

by darkmillennium



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Banter, Canon Compliant, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Or maybe it is, Post-Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Sort Of, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Unhappy Ending, hmmm let's see what do i tag this, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:20:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28387674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmillennium/pseuds/darkmillennium
Summary: The past will always find a way to cling to the future.
Relationships: Michael/Adam Milligan
Comments: 22
Kudos: 62





	an end

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to write something quick and simple and here's the result

“Do you ever think about...I don’t know, the stars?”

_I was there when they were created._

“Yeah, but...do you _think_ about them?” Adam rolled over, met the blue of Michael’s eyes. He looks amused. “Imagine if Earth was as big as some of them are. Overpopulation would never be a problem again!”

He paused. “Well, no. People would still be people, I guess.”

_Do you want to go visit them? The stars?_

Adam flinches, full-bodied and immediate, and drops his eyes away from the archangel’s. He’s not sure where the doubt comes from—normally, he _loved_ to go look at the stars, to hang on tight as Michael’s wings flapped through space and time as they rocketed towards their destination. Now, though, Michael’s concern ebbs and flows like the tide, and Adam can’t bring himself to look back up.

“Nah,” he says, going for casual and knowing that he’s falling a little too flat. “Nah, that’s alright.”

Michael hums his acknowledgement, but his eyes are still burning holes into Adam's head. He doesn’t need to see them to feel them.

* * *

The paper folds crisp and clean under his fingers, again and again and again as he works. His tongue is jabbed firmly into the side of his cheek—this is his fifth attempt. He wants to get it right.

_Kid—I understand the food, but what could you possibly hope to gain from...origami?_

“The final product,” Adam shoots back, a hint of a grin rising before his focus is captivated by the paper once more. He’s _trying_ to make a swan; key word: _trying._ It always falls apart at the last second, and no matter how often he tries to fix the little mistakes it never quite works. 

He checks the book again, scowling as he realizes that he’d missed a step. He’d picked it up at the book store on the other side of town, even though it had made him queasy. He wasn’t sure why, only that he’d felt better the second he’d stepped foot into his dingy little apartment. He should probably clean soon. It was getting dusty.

“Y’know,” he says, a bit wry as the paper slides out of his grip and onto the floor, “I thought practice made perfect.”

_It does, when you’re actually practicing it right._

Adam sends him a mock scowl, to which Michael only replies with a genial smile, teasing and warm and rich in a way that makes Adam’s eyes...fill with tears.

Huh. What?

Michael’s smile warps into concern again, and Adam hates to see it go. He lifts his hand to swipe at his cheek, unsure as to why his throat was suddenly tight, why the tears wouldn’t _stop._

_Are you okay?_

“Y-yeah,” he manages, frowning at the unwelcome sensations. “Yeah, I mean—I don’t know why I’m crying.”

The archangel inspects him further, for all of a moment, before deciding that Adam really _was_ fine and letting a hint of a grin curl back onto his face. Dimly, Adam’s aware that his hands have started to shake. 

_I didn’t know that folding would be so hard for you,_ Michael says, but it’s playful in a gentle way, like Adam is glass on the verge of shattering. He hasn’t spoken to him like that since they’d been in the Cage, since Adam’s sanity had been three half-steps away from leaping off the edge of a cliff and disappearing altogether.

Adam doesn’t like it, but he snerks regardless. Just to show that he’s _fine,_ he’s fine, he doesn’t know _why_ his damn eyes keep filling up but there isn’t anything _wrong_ with him. 

_I never thought there was._

“Sure, just read my mind like I’m not here. Cheater,” he huffs, his laughter a little more genuine this time. Michael’s smile broadens. 

_At least I can fold paper better than you._

“Prove it.”

Michael tilts his head, the perfect picture of innocence. _No._

“Then _I’m_ the one who’s better at it!”

_Also no._

“If you won’t even try it, then how can you say that you’re better at it?” The tears have nearly run dry, now. His eyes burn. He’s tired. He shouldn't be this tired; he's barely done anything all day!

Michael shrugs, but there’s an inquisitive air to him now that wasn’t there before. Adam doesn’t know where it came from, or what the question in the other’s eyes is, but the other says nothing.

Adam picks up his half-made swan and tries again.

* * *

_You can’t do this forever._

Adam stops mid-bite, chewing the rest of the sandwich he had in his mouth and swallowing before he sends a quizzical look Michael’s way. “What’re you talking about?”

Michael sighs, an expectant look washing over his features before the silence drags on and it morphs into a frown. _You really don’t know._

“Uh...no?”

_Adam, look at me._

He sets the sandwich down on his bedside table, turns his body to face Michael fully. “What am I supposed to be seeing?”

Michael looks normal. He’s dressed in the same clothes Adam is, hands in his pockets as he stands across from him, the concern on his face layered so thick he can practically taste it. Adam’s gaze roves over him; once, twice, but whatever Michael’s trying to get him to see evades him. 

“You’re gonna have to be more specific, halo,” he admits, sheepish in the face of Michael’s ever-deepening displease. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

_Touch me._

He freezes for a second. There’s a joke playing in the back of his head that he’d like to blurt out, but Michael’s reaching out with his hand and...this is serious, isn’t it?

The set of the archangel’s shoulders, like he’s preparing himself for another battle with Lucifer in the Cage, tells him yes.

“Um...okay?” It’s then that Adam remembers—they hadn’t really touched in a while, had they? He’d assumed that Michael just wanted his space, but they’d fallen out of their usual habits of shoulder squeezes, of threaded fingers, of gentle kisses pressed to knuckles when the other wasn’t paying attention. 

He’d missed it. 

“Do you want me to just—” he says, reaching out in return to join hands, but something stops him. 

A barrier, cold and solid and impassable. What—?

“Michael?” he says, looking up from the proffered hand to stare at the other’s face, but Michael only mouths the name back at him, looking as confused as Adam feels.

“What’s going on?” he tries, voice quavering, but it happens again: Michael mouths the words at him, an imitation with no voice. None that Adam can hear, anyway.

His head hurts. It’s foggy, muddled in a way that leaves him grasping for straws that aren’t there. 

“This isn’t funny!”

His hand darts forward, desperate to break the barrier, heart beginning to pound in his ears, the headache growing sharper and sharper as he struggles to remember—no, he struggles _not_ to remember, he—

He hits the barrier again, harder this time. 

The world shatters.

* * *

It’s quiet.

There are a thousand Michaels now, scattered on the floor like openings to a thousand different worlds. His hands, knees, feet were dipped in red without his knowledge, but he can’t even feel the way that the liquid runs slow and dark along the length of his arm.

His chest keeps clenching around something—no, his chest keeps clenching around _nothing,_ an instinctive motion for something that _isn’t there._ Which can’t be right— _Michael’s_ there. He _has_ to be there.

“Michael?” he forces out. He can’t even hear his own voice, but the biting at his legs from where he'd dropped to his knees just won't quit.

Nothing.

The mirror frame sits askew on the ground, glass lining the edges like jagged teeth. 

When he looks into it, it’s only him.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!! comments are super appreciated
> 
> my tumblr is @adammilligan


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